


You Know What They Say About Customers

by asideofourown



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asideofourown/pseuds/asideofourown
Summary: “Angel,” Crowley all but yelled, smiling sharply.  He hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, and it unnerved Annie a little that she couldn’t see his eyes.  “Are you aware you have a customer?”The owner gave Annie a look that reminded her remarkably of a deer caught in a car’s headlights.  “Well, ah,” he stammered.Crowley’s sharp grin didn’t abate.  “Explains why it’s so... inhospitable in here,” he added, running one finger along a shelf.  His finger came away dirty.  “Don’t you know that damp is bad for books?”The lights seemed to dim again, and the ceiling began to leak in earnest. Annie thought about the book she had picked up, in a foreign language and so choked with dust it was hard to read, and then about her cousin’s allergies.  “I should actually get going, sorry,” she said a little uneasily.  She let the door shut behind her, shivering in the cold as she headed down the street.Thatwas a bookshop she was never going to return to.[Five times a potential customer never returns to Aziraphale’s shop + one not-customer who promises he will]





	You Know What They Say About Customers

**Author's Note:**

> (They say the customer is _always_ right- Aziraphale would tend to disagree, especially when being right means walking out with one of his books)
> 
> Brief content warning for (relatively?) mild homophobic language in the 5th section of this fic, which is, obviously, promptly shut down.
> 
> Enjoy!

Annie pulled her coat more tightly around herself and clomped up the steps of A. Z. Fell and Co’s bookshop, shivering a little as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.She had hoped that the store would be at least passingly warmer than the dreary November evening outside, hoped that the golden light that had spilled out of the windows onto the Soho sidewalks indicated comfort, but it seemed she had made a severe misjudgment.

Instead of warm and cozy, the bookshop was somehow drafty and cold.The light from lamps placed strategically around on tables on bookshelves didn’t look as golden as it had from the outside— instead, strange and unnerving shadows were cast, and the whole place felt dim and cramped.Bookshelves stuffed full of old, mouldering tomes loomed from every side, and the whole place smelled faintly of damp and, oddly, charred paper.

Annie pressed her lips together and looked around.It was getting late, so it wasn’t exactly shocking that there weren’t any other customers in the shop, but she couldn’t see any indication that there was anyone working either.“Hello?” she called tentatively, stepping a little further into the shop and distractedly scuffing her shoes on the mat by the door.“Um, is there anyone here?”Her only answer was a faint rustle and a squeak, and then a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye convinced her that she had seen a mouse scurry across one of the aisles.

Annie took a deep breath.“Alright.”She stuffed her hands in her pockets and stepped up to one shelf, looking to browse.For whatever reason, though, when she picked up a book at random and opened it to see if there was a flap she could read, it seemed to be in some other language.“Is this…” Annie muttered, squinting at the tiny, hard to read print.“Is this Greek?”She slowly closed the book and put it back on the shelf, but somehow even that simple action managed to kick up a cloud of dust that stung at her eyes.Annie sneezed twice and then rubbed at her nose, wishing she had a tissue.When she looked down at her hands, her fingers were grimy and sticky with spiderwebs from holding the book.

A shiver went down her spine as a freezing cold draft brushed her exposed ankles, and a little drop of cold water landed on her head from a leak in the ceiling.“Oh, goodness,” Annie muttered.

At that moment, the front door banged open and a man wearing all black up to his sunglasses (despite the dreary day) strolled in.“Angel, you in?” he called, the plastic takeaway bag in his hand crinkling as he struggled out of his long black overcoat.He didn’t appear to notice Annie in the shadowy corner of the shop she had somehow found herself in.

A voice replied from somewhere in the back of the bookshop, “Oh, Crowley, dear!”

The shop’s temperature seemed, somehow, to increase to the cozy interior Annie had expected when she had come in, and the lamps shone a little brighter.Crowley hung up his jacket on the coatrack by the door, and then caught sight of Annie.She felt guilty, suddenly, as though she had been caught red-handed doing something wrong despite the fact that all she wanted to do was warm up a bit, maybe buy a book for her cousin, and go back to her flat.

“Angel,” Crowley all but yelled, smiling sharply.He hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, and it unnerved Annie a little that she couldn’t see his eyes.“Are you aware you have a customer?” Crowley asked just as a middle-aged man in a bow tie bustled out of the back.

The man, presumably the owner, paused.He gave Annie a look that reminded her remarkably of a deer caught in a car’s headlights.“Well, ah,” he stammered.

Crowley’s sharp grin didn’t abate.“Explains why it’s so... inhospitable in here,” he added, running one finger along a shelf.His finger came away dirty.“Don’t you know that damp is bad for books?”

The lights seemed to dim again, and the ceiling began to leak in earnest.

The owner ignored his friend (acquaintance? Boyfriend?) and focused on Annie, forcing a smile.“How can I help you?”

Annie thought about the book she had picked up, in a foreign language and so choked with dust it was hard to read, and then about her cousin’s allergies.“I should actually get going, sorry,” she said a little uneasily, zipping up her coat again.She neared the door, passing the nervous owner and his grinning friend, and then paused to add, “You know, you really _should_ get your ceiling fixed and your drafts patched and such, I can’t imagine it’s good for your books.Much less helps with attracting customers.”

The owner’s smile tightened.“Yes, quite, I’ll give it some thought,” he said.“I do hope that whatever _other_ bookstore you visit will be more... attractive.”

Annie gave him an odd look.“Good night,” she said, opening the door.

For whatever reason, the owner’s smile seemed more sincere once he realized she was leaving for real.“Mind how you go, dear girl,” he replied.

Annie let the door shut behind her, shivering in the cold as she headed down the street._That_ was a bookshop she was never going to return to.

* * *

Nathaniel flopped down in an overstuffed armchair in the bookstore his older brother had dragged him to and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just a few minutes, Nate,” Josh promised, ruffling Nathaniel’s hair.

Nathaniel scowled at him.“You say that every time,” he complained, ducking his chin and glaring up at his brother from under too-long bangs.

Josh bit his lip.“I know, but I mean it,” he said.“I’ll be done in ten minutes, and then we can go to the park.”

“Fine,” Nathaniel huffed.He knew this argument wasn’t one he would win, but maybe if he told their mom when they got home, _she_ would make Josh stop dragging him on errands.

Josh gave him a slightly patronizing smile.“Great!Just stay right there, buddy, I’m going to go find the owner to see if he can help me find what I want to buy.”

Nathaniel slouched in his chair and pouted, watching as Josh went off to look for whatever obscure book he had been prattling on about on the walk over, and tried not to seethe too obviously.He was _ten, _that was far too old for Josh to still be calling him buddy.Besides, it wasn’t like Josh was _that_ much older, he had just gotten annoying since going off to uni.He sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling of the bookshop petulantly.He thought about messing around, but every single book in the place looked expensive and his mom would be _so_ angry if he damaged expensive books.

A flicker of movement caught Nathaniel’s eye, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair.It took him a moment to figure out what he had seen before his eyes focused on the bookshelf just across from him.He gasped in delight, jumping to his feet.Coiled up on the shelf, tail hanging off the edge and head resting on a thick Bible, was a large black snake.

“Ooh,” Nathaniel said, inching forward.The snake’s head lifted slightly, and it seemed to focus on Nathaniel.“What’s a snake doing in a boring bookshop?” Nathaniel wondered out loud, and then stuck out a hand to pet the snake.This was the first snake he had ever seen in person, at least the first that wasn’t behind a pane of glass at the zoo, so it didn’t occur to him that it would be a very, very bad idea to try to pet it.

The snake also appeared not to realize that it shouldn’t want to be pet— it seemed to roll its yellow eyes, but tolerated Nathaniel’s pats and compliments.“Bet you’re also bored,” Nathaniel said, admiring the snake’s smooth, dry black scales and red underbelly.“I saw in a nature film that snakes live in the jungle an’ desert an’ stuff.Not in London.Do you wanna come home with me?We have a sandbox in the back lot, that’s kinda like a desert.”

The snake shifted a little under his fingertips, tongue flicking out to taste the air.It didn’t seem all that enthused about moving in with Nathaniel, although the patch of sunlight it was curled up in was probably making it sluggish.“My desk lamp gets awfully hot,” Nathaniel added, because for some reason he got the impression the snake could understand him and was just choosing not to say so.“Could be a nice heat lamp.I read that snakes like those.”

The snake lifted its head again, and Nathaniel clumsily patted it.“I’m gonna name you Snakey,” he decided.“Snakey McSnake.”The snake somehow managed to look incredibly insulted, even though it couldn’t pout or scowl.

“I believe I have what you’re looking for over here,” someone said from behind Nathaniel, and he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Josh and an old guy in a tan coat round the corner.They both stopped short, for different reasons, Josh with a horrified gasp and the other man with a small frown.

“Nate!” Josh exclaimed, dashing forward and picking Nathaniel up, jerking him away from the snake.

“Hey!” Nathaniel protested.

“Mr. Fell, oh my god,” Josh gasped, sounding panicked.“Call animal control, I think that’s a red bellied black snake!They’re venomous!”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry,” Mr. Fell said a little huffily.He squeezed around Josh and Nathaniel and absently patted the snake on the head.“That’s just Crawly, he’s entirely harmless.”The snake hissed as though in objection but let Mr. Fell pick him up anyway, looping over his shoulders like a scaly scarf.

Josh gaped at him, and Nathaniel wriggled in his arms.“Get offa me!” he said, and managed to push his brother away.

Josh grabbed his arm before he could reach out to pet the snake again.“We’re leaving,” Josh said firmly, and then _glared_ at Mr. Fell.“It’s incredibly irresponsible of you to keep such a dangerous animal out in the open,” he said.“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes._“_Crawly’s a dumb name,” he told Mr. Fell.“I’d’ve named him Snakey.”

Mr. Fell’s lips twitched, as though he were stifling a smile.“Oh?”

Nathaniel nodded.“Yup.”

“Come on,” Josh said with a frown, leading him away.“You’re lucky I don’t call animal control on that thing,” he threw over his shoulder to Mr. Fell.“Someone could get seriously hurt!”

“Crawly hasn’t bitten anyone in ages,” Mr. Fell replied primly, but just stood with his snake around his shoulders and watched them leave.In the last glimpse Nathaniel caught, he could have _sworn_ that Crawly winked at him.But that didn’t make sense because, as he had learned in a nature film, snakes didn’t have eyelids to wink with.

“Good lord,” Josh grumbled, still holding too tightly to Nathaniel’s hand as they hurried away from the bookshop.“We’re _never_ going back there.”

Nathaniel frowned.He liked the idea of not going to boring bookshops in principle, but it figured that his brother would boycott the only _cool_ one in London, the one with a _snake._Just his luck.“Can we go to the park now?” he asked.

Josh just sighed.

* * *

Sasha was honestly just trying to get out of the rain.They were, of course, interested in books of almost all kinds, but the kind of books stocked by A. Z. Fell weren’t exactly… to their taste.They weren’t really one for musty old Bibles and weird prophecy books, as a general rule.

But it was kind of interesting, just looking through the _history_ of the place.Fell had books older than countries, and books in several different languages, and Sasha reluctantly found themselves _fascinated._It was like taking a stroll through several different eras, and even without the awful weather they might have ended up staying for a while, browsing.

The only problem was Sunglasses Guy.

Sunglasses Guy was a guy wearing sunglasses indoors, despite the fact that it was absolutely _pissing_ rain outside, and he was sprawled out in an armchair in the middle of the bookshop eating crisps.Every time Sasha picked up a book that looked mildly interesting and concentrated on reading a passage, Sunglasses Guy would loudly rustle his bag and then crunch on a crisp, chewing obnoxiously before swallowing.At one point he somehow got his hands on some kind of drink, and punctuated his crunching with loud slurps through his straw.After about fifteen minutes of that, Sasha pointedly ignoring the whole thing, Sunglasses Guy seemed to finish his food and drink and got up to throw the empty bag in a convenient bin.

Sasha sighed silently in relief and picked up a book, flipping through it.They brought the book with them to one of the chairs scattered around the bookshop and had just settled in to read until the rain let up when music started loudly blaring.They jumped, startled, and Sunglasses Guy glanced up from where he was watching some video on his phone._Without_ headphones.

“Sorry,” Sunglasses Guy said unconvincingly, and turned his volume up.

Sasha sighed, and became resigned to the fact that they weren’t going to be able to concentrate.

The noise, however, seemed to attract the bookshop’s owner, a middle aged man with fluffy blond hair and a dusty old coat.“Crowley,” the owner (Mr. Fell?Probably.Although the bookshop had supposedly been around for decades, so maybe the titular Mr. Fell was no longer the proprietor) said.“Must you play that _quite_ so loud?”

“Sorry, angel,” Sunglasses Guy said, and this time he sounded a little more sincere.He paused his video, craned his neck to look up at Mr. Fell.“I forgot my headphones at home. Besides, being a public nuisance is very demonic behavior.”

“I think that you’ll find I miraculously have a pair of headphones in the back,” Mr. Fell replied.He caught sight of Sasha, and he added, “Please, dearest, you _are_ disturbing the customers.You know I don’t at all mind your being around, it’s just—”

Crowley’s eyebrows went so far up they practically disappeared into his hair.“Oh, _my_,” he said mockingly, but there was very little heat to his words.“I would never want to make your shop inhospitable to _customers!”_He sat up properly, his smile wide and sharp.“Do you know what they say about stones and glass houses, angel?”

Mr. Fell colored just slightly.“Quite,” he replied.

Crowley got to his feet and gave Mr. Fell a smacking, dramatic kiss on the cheek.“I’ll go sit in the back,” he said.“And then _you_ can listen to music with me.I can show you something more recent than bebop.”

Mr. Fell rolled his eyes, but he was smiling fondly.“Alright, dearest, I’ll be there in a moment,” he said.He gave Crowley a much more chaste kiss on the lips and then turned his attention to Sasha as Crowley wandered away.“Can I help you find anything?” he said, and for some odd reason he looked a little reluctant.“I suppose I would be a hypocrite if I scolded _Crowley_ for being inhospitable.”

Sasha cleared their throat.“Um, I’m just browsing right now, if that’s OK,” they said.“I was kind of just looking to get out of the rain?Sorry, I can leave if you only want customers hanging around.”

Mr. Fell brightened.“Oh, that’s quite alright,” he said, suddenly much happier.“You’re free to browse as long as you like, no need to buy anything.”

“Thanks,” Sasha said, doing their best to hide their bafflement.Mr. Fell gave them one last bright smile before following his partner off to the back room.The music resumed playing a moment later, but faint enough that Sasha was able to concentrate on their book for a while.

The rain let up after an hour, and Sasha returned their book to where they had found it before heading for the entrance.Mr. Fell was puttering around in the shelves, rearranging books in an order that seemed to be evident only to him, while his partner was just barely visible in the back room napping on his sofa.

“Have a nice afternoon,” Mr. Fell said with a smile as Sasha passed.

They smiled back.“You too.”

Sasha left the shop, pulling their hood up to keep their hair dry from the light drizzle still falling.They probably wouldn’t be back to A. Z. Fell’s, not with the kind of books Mr. Fell carried, but there was no denying that it _had_ been a rather nice afternoon.

Sunglasses Guy or not.

* * *

Amalie had been arguing with Mr. A. Z. Fell for a good ten minutes, and she was beginning to lose her patience.“I don’t understand,” she said insistently, crossing her arms.“You have the rest of the series in mint condition, why don’t you have the specific book I’m looking for?”

Mr. Fell drew himself up, tugging at his waistcoat to straighten it out.“Someone must have come looking for it before you,” he said firmly, his stupid little reading glasses perched on his nose.“I’m sorry, but sometimes that is just how the world goes.And I’m afraid that if I don’t have the book in stock, I won’t be able to sell it to you.”One eyebrow went up just slightly.“Now, is there anything _else?”_

Amalie gritted her teeth.“Can you check again?” she asked.“I find it _incredibly_ hard to believe that you would have an entire series except for the fourth book.I told you before, price is no object.I’m perfectly willing to pay, I just really need to complete my set.”

“I do _not_ have the book you’re looking for,” Mr. Fell said, his voice steady.

Amalie looked past him into the back room of the shop, where she had the itching feeling that the exact book she was looking for was tucked away somewhere.“Well, can _I_ look then?” she said, and then gestured around to the rest of the bookshop.“You have to admit that your organization is a bit… disorderly.Perhaps you missed it, I’m a pair of fresh eyes.”

Mr. Fell had the audacity to look insulted at that, as though his bookshop _wasn’t_ a disaster that hadn’t ever heard of the Dewey Decimal System.“My dear girl, I assure you I know my own shop,” he said with a frown.

Amalie felt bad for just a moment, and then she thought about the gap on her bookshelf that she was looking to fill.“It’s no trouble, I don't mind looking,” she said with false cheer, and then before he could blink she darted past him into the back.

“Oh, goodness!” Mr. Fell exclaimed, hurrying after her.“My dear girl, no customers are allowed back here—”

Amalie came to a stop in his back room, scanning the stuffed shelves for the book she was looking for.“I really must insist—“ Mr. Fell blustered, coming to a stop behind her, but someone cleared their throat to interrupt him.

Amalie turned to find a lanky, black-clad man sprawled on a dusty sofa, a magazine open in his lap.Amalie glanced over at Mr. Fell with her eyebrows raised.“I thought you said no customers were allowed back here,” she said archly.

The man on the sofa snorted a laugh.“I’m not a customer,” he said.“I’m just the husband.”

“Dearest,” Mr. Fell said, giving the man a fond glare, and then turned back to Amalie.“I’m afraid I must insist you return to the main body of the shop,” he said sternly.“I cannot have customers in the back, and none of the books here are for sale.This is my _personal_ collection.”

Amalie took a long, breath, and then spotted the book she had been looking for and arguing over, perched on a shelf.“Aha!” she said, grabbing it before Mr. Fell could object.“I told you I would be able to find it.”

Mr. Fell, for some reason, looked at his husband with a scowl.“Really, Crowley?” he said, exasperated.

Crowley gave him a grin.“Thought you wanted her out of your back room, angel,” he replied.

Amalie sniffed.“I’m leaving now,” she said primly, and then headed out to the front room again with her prize in hand, stopping by the counter.Mr. Fell followed her a moment later, after a quick muffled conversation with his husband, and Amalie immediately set her book on the counter.“I’d like to buy this,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Mr. Fell looked like he was trying very hard to think of a valid objection.

Amalie raised an eyebrow.“How much?”

“Four hundred pounds?” Mr. Fell tried, his voice ticking up at the end.

Amalie lost her temper.“I don’t understand how in the world your bookshop is still running,” she snapped.“How could it possibly be, when you don’t want to sell a bloody thing?Good God, your customer service is awful, and if you didn’t have the best collection around no one would bother to come here at all!”

Mr. Fell’s expression shuttered.“I see,” he said coldly, and then reached out and took the book back, stowing it under the counter before Amalie could blink.“I’m terribly sorry, I forgot that this book had been put on hold for someone else.I’m afraid I _still_ don’t have what you’re looking for.”

Amalie counted to ten in her head before speaking again.“Fine,” she said.“Fine.Be that way._I’ll_ never be back here, that’s for sure, I can find what I want somewhere else.”She turned on her heel and flounced towards the door, and then paused to add, “You’re a complete bastard, you know.”

Mr. Fell smiled at her, and he didn’t look at all insulted.“Thank you, my husband thinks so too.”

Amalie huffed and left, letting the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

Emmett followed his partner into the A. Z. Fell’s Soho bookshop, smiling fondly and listening to him talk.

“Mr. Fell’s got a great collection,” Fred promised as they walked in the door.“You wouldn’t expect it, most of the other books are old as hell, but he’s got a really nice selection of LGBTQ books as well.He’ll probably have something you can use for your thesis.”

“Sounds good,” Emmett said, slinging an arm over Fred’s shoulders.

“Best part is,” Fred said, giving him a bright grin, “He doesn’t care at all if students want to just hang out and read, so you don’t need to buy anything if you don’t want.”

“My wallet thanks him,” Emmett laughed.Fred took his hand and led him through the cramped, full bookshop.There were a few other people browsing the shelves, and for whatever reason a man in black skinny jeans and sunglasses was lying on the floor and gazing up at the ceiling, but Emmett didn’t have more than a moment to stare before Fred led him to a section of mostly newer books with a little row of pride flags hanging from one of the shelves.

“Ooh, nice,” Emmett murmured, crouching to get a look at some of the lower shelves.

Fred grinned.“Eh?”

Emmet straightened again, kissed him quickly.“Perfect,” he said.“Thanks for telling me about this place, babe.”

Fred winked at him.“Always happy to share the love.”

Emmett snorted, and then went back to browsing the books to see if there was anything he could use as a source for his thesis.Mr. Fell’s collection was great, honestly, he had a lot of books about queer history that looked like they would work really well.It was practically a miracle, Emmett had been struggling a little to find all the authoritative texts he needed.

“I’m gonna go find the owner,” Fred said, resting a hand on his arm for just a moment.“He might be able to help you as well, the man’s like an encyclopedia.”

“Alright,” Emmett said, distracted.He pulled a thick book off the shelf, already in research mode.Fred kissed him quickly on the cheek and disappeared.

It took no time at all for Emmett to settle on the floor, sitting on a surprisingly clean and comfortable rug as he surrounded himself with books.After a little while he figured he had gathered enough sources, and piled them carefully on a side table to come back for before going off in search of his partner.He spotted Fred up by the counter talking to a man he assumed was the owner, and passed the man lying on the floor as he headed over.

“Hey,” Fred said with a smile as Emmett approached.He reached out a hand and took Emmett’s before saying to the bookshop owner, “Mr. Fell, this is my partner Emmett.Emmett, this is Mr. Fell.”

“Hi,” Emmett said, and then blurted, “Do you know you have a man lying on the floor in the middle of your bookshop?”

Mr. Fell peered past him.“Oh, he’s still there?”

“That’s just Crowley,” Fred told him.“He met Freddie Mercury once, and he didn’t stop talking about it for twenty minutes the first time I introduced myself.”

“Oh,” Emmett said slowly.That explained exactly nothing.

“He’s my husband,” Mr. Fell explained, a laugh in his voice.

“Oh,” Emmett said again.“Er, why’s he on the floor?”

Mr. Fell’s eyebrows went up.“A while ago he said he was telepathically communicating with his rat army, but I think he’s fallen asleep.”

“I haven’t!” the man on the floor called, suddenly sitting up.He raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up.“‘M counting your ceiling tiles.”

Mr. Fell raised an eyebrow.“Is that so?”

His husband nodded.“D’you know you have six hundred and sixty five?” he asked, and then smiled mischievously.“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”

Mr. Fell just sighed, and then turned his attention back to Emmett.“Have you found everything you need, dear boy?” he asked.“I might have things in the back as well, if you like.What’s the topic of your thesis?”

“The evolution of queer language and literature in the 20th and 21st century,” Emmett replied.

Mr. Fell brightened.“I certainly have some things about that,” he said.“Just a moment.”

He hurried away, and Emmett leaned in to give Fred a quick kiss.“This place is great,” he said.“Thanks again.”

Fred smiled, cupping his face and kissing him back.“Told ya,” he muttered against Emmett’s lips.

“Must you?”

The two broke apart, and turned to find an older woman glaring at them.“There are _children_ here,” she said.“There’s no need for people like you to be so… _open_ in public places.”

Emmett opened his mouth furiously, but Crowley beat him to it.“Oi,” he snapped, getting up from the floor and dusting off his pants.“You can leave.”

The woman turned her disapproving frown on him, taking in his tight pants and face tattoo.“I don’t believe you’re the owner,” she said sniffily.“So you have no right to tell me what to do.”

When Crowley grinned, his teeth looked a little sharper than normal.“Yeah?” he said.“As a reasonable guy, I _do_ have the right to tell you to fuck off.So.Get to it.”

There was a shuffling sound from the back, and a moment later Mr. Fell reappeared with a heavy pile of books in hand.“Mr. Fell,” the woman said before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.“Your other patrons are being unaccountably rude, you ought to get them to leave.”

Mr. Fell frowned slightly, setting the books down with a thump.“My patrons are being rude?” he repeated.

“Angel,” Crowley started.

Mr. Fell cleared his throat, utterly focused on the scowling woman.“He is not the owner of this shop, you are correct,” he said, nodding in Crowley’s direction.“However, I am, and I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone I please.I do not cater to bigots.You may leave.”

The woman’s jaw dropped in shock.“The nerve!” she exclaimed, shoving the book she was holding back onto the shelf and storming towards the door.“I’ll never be coming back _here,_ that’s for sure!”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” Fred shouted with a grin.

The door did, somehow, manage to hit her as she left, and Crowley chuckled.“I should head out, angel,” he said to Mr. Fell.“My rat army tells me there’s some trouble to take care of, the thing with the bagpipes and the yoghurt didn’t work out as I’d planned.I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven?”

“That sounds lovely, darling,” Mr. Fell said mildly, waving to his husband as he sauntered out.He looked back down with a small frown at the books he had brought out, and then said, “Now, I think that I have a few more things somewhere around here, if you’d like to follow me?”Without waiting, he rounded the counter and disappeared between two shelves.

Fred clapped Emmett on the shoulder and smiled.“Welcome to Fell’s,” he said in a low voice.

Emmett grinned back, and then followed Mr. Fell into the stacks.

* * *

Warlock Dowling wandered through Soho with his hands stuffed in his pockets, a bit lost both physically and existentially.

Since moving back to England for school a few weeks before, he hadn’t spent much time really wandering around the city, but after yet another frustrating call with his parents he couldn’t help but want to get out of his small rooms for a while and just _think._His feet took him to the park and he sat on a bench and watched the ducks for a while, but by the time it was getting dark he found himself walking down unfamiliar streets lined with clubs and bars and closed shops.

Warlock bit his lip and stepped off to the side, sitting down on the stoop of a bookstore to pull out his phone.He opened the Maps app, and then groaned out loud when it told him that the cell service was down.

“Heck,” Warlock muttered, pushing his bangs out of his face.He looked down the street, searching for somewhere he could go in to ask for directions, but didn’t much like his prospects.The mild anxiety churning in his stomach swelled, and Warlock had to take several deep breaths to try to calm himself down.“It’s fine,” he said out loud, hoping that hearing the words would help his panic.“It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.No big deal.”

He swallowed hard and shoved his phone back in his pocket, turning around to look at the bookshop he had been sitting in front of.It looked oddly out of place in Soho, and also oddly out of time— the paint on the door was slightly chipped with age, and the front windows were crowded with piles of old books.There was a little sign on the door turned to _Closed,_ but golden light spilled out of the windows from somewhere inside.

Warlock took a deep breath, and then tried the door handle, a little surprised to find that it opened readily.He hesitated.The bookshop was closed, supposedly, but it was a much more attractive option to ask for directions than a club.So he really had no choice.

Warlock steeled himself, and then pushed open the door and stepped into A. Z. Fell and Co’s bookshop.

As soon as the door closed behind him most of the noise of the busy Soho streets outside cut off, Warlock found himself in a crowded, dimly lit foyer absolutely surrounded by books.Overhead, a little bell tinkled above the door, and at the sound a voice called from somewhere in the depths of the shop, “We’re very closed!”

Warlock cleared his throat.“Um,” he called back uncertainly.“Sorry, I’m just, um, looking for directions?”

There was a shuffling sound, and then a moment later a man Warlock assumed was the shop’s owner appeared from the back.He was about middle aged, with fluffy blond hair and a tartan bowtie, and for some reason he seemed _incredibly_ familiar.

The man gave Warlock a kind smile.“Oh, well in that case,” he said.“We’re still open.Where are you trying to get?”

Warlock didn’t answer for a moment— he just stared.Even though the prim accent and spiffy old clothes were entirely unfamiliar, there was something about that smile, those bright eyes, that reminded him of… “Brother Francis?” Warlock blurted, and then his eyes widened.“Um!I mean—”

The man’s smile dropped off his face, and he peered closer at Warlock.“Young Master Warlock?” he said slowly and _there_ was an echo of the voice from his childhood, _there_ was an expression he had seen often behind muttonchops and large teeth.

“Oh, dear,” Brother Francis murmured, stepping forward.“Warlock, it’s, er… been a while.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Warlock threw his arms around Brother Francis, who caught him with a surprised _oof_ before hugging him back.“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Warlock mumbled into his old gardener’s shoulder, shaking just a little.“_Gosh.”_

Brother Francis gave him one last squeeze, and then held him out at arm’s length with a wide smile.“My, how you’ve grown!So tall!How old are you now, eighteen?”

He sounded far more like the gardener but still looked like a bookshop owner, and Warlock said with a slightly wet laugh, “Yeah.You look _really_ different, Brother Francis.”

Brother Francis’s lips pursed.“I suppose I do,” he murmured, his expression growing serious again.“I suppose we have _quite_ a bit of explaining to do.”

Warlock’s attention snagged on that _we,_ and his eyes widened as he asked, “Wait, are you still in contact with Nanny Ashtoreth?You guys left at around the same time, and I know you guys pretended not to like each other, but I always thought you were friends— although I was eleven, so I guess—”

Brother Francis’s eyes sparkled.“Yes, we’re still in contact,” he said.“I ought to call right now.”

“Oh, um, the cell phone networks are down, that's why I have to ask for directions,” Warlock said a little awkwardly.

Brother Francis gave him another smile.“That’s quite alright, I have a landline,” he replied, and then beckoned Warlock a little further into the shop.“Would you like something to drink? Tea, cocoa, oh, I might have some coffee around, Crowley likes it in the mornings sometimes—“

“Tea is fine,” Warlock said quietly.He was ridiculously happy to see Brother Francis again after so long, to have the chance of catching up with two of the people that had made such a serious impact on his childhood, but his excitement was now tempered with confusion and a little bit of hurt.

_Why did you leave?_ was on the tip of his tongue— even though he well knew that they likely hadn’t had a choice, he had always figured his parents had fired them before they moved back to America, and it wasn’t as though the gardener and Scottish nanny could come _with_ them— But now Brother Francis seemed so different, and wasn’t acting as though he and Warlock hadn’t seen each other for eight years, and Warlock wasn’t entirely sure what to think.

Brother Francis led Warlock through a small back room into a little kitchenette, and filled a kettle before setting it on the stove.“I’ll be back in just a tick,” he said with a comforting smile, and then popped into the back room.

Warlock stuck his head around the corner and watched as Brother Francis dialed on an old rotary phone before putting the receiver to his ear and waiting patiently.After a long moment he brightened, and said, “Yes, dear, of course I know it’s you, I— oh, wait, this is your ansaphone.Crowley, love, please pick up.”

He paused again, toe tapping, and then his smile grew slightly.“Ah, there you are.Dear, please come over at once, you’ll never believe who just walked in…Warlock Dowling…!hm, yes, I _would_ expect so… oh. Oh, yes, that’s a good thought.If I’d known he was coming I might have changed— Well, yes.Alright, yes, I’ll see you.I love you too.”

He hung up and sighed quietly before glancing over at the kitchenette.Warlock didn’t quite manage to duck back in time, and Brother Francis caught his eye.He smiled again, and looked suddenly ageless and rather tired.“Crowley— that is, Ashtoreth, is on the way,” he said.

“That was her on the phone?” Warlock said, something like pleased surprise welling in his chest.“She was the one you said _I love you_ to?”

Brother Francis blushed just a little bit, straightened his bowtie.“Well, we _are_ married,” he said primly.“Although I suppose we weren’t officially back when you were a child.”

Warlock smiled slowly.“I think I could tell you loved each other anyway,” he said quietly.

Brother Francis smiled tentatively back.“That’s quite nice to hear.”In the kitchen the kettle began to screech, and Brother Francis patted him on the shoulder as he squeezed past to get it.Before long, Warlock found himself settled at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea in front of him, Brother Francis with his own mug of cocoa.

“Warlock,” Brother Francis said quietly, cupping his cocoa in both hands.“I think it would be best if we waited until Crowley arrived to explain fully, but my dear boy… I’m so terribly sorry.”

Warlock abruptly looked up from his tea, his bangs flopping over his eyes.“What?”

Brother Francis inhaled slowly, his lips pressed together.“Crowley and I… we oughtn’t to have left for good, I think,” he said quietly.“We talked about it, we decided… decided we’d done enough damage, after everything, disrupted your life and your family’s enough, but we… we should have said goodbye, at least.We should have checked in.”

Warlock swallowed hard.He would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn’t been angry, bitter for a long time, but he had also spent years trying to work through that.“Gosh,” he said.“You didn’t have any choice, though, we moved out of the country.Didn’t my parents fire you?”

Brother Francis laughed softly, without much humor.“We could have had a choice, we _should_ have,” he murmured.“But I suppose, in a very real way, we didn’t ever exist to your parents.”He refocused on Warlock, and again there was something ancient in his eyes.

Warlock opened his mouth without knowing exactly _what_ question was going to pop out, but before he could say anything the front door of the shop banged open and a voice called, “Angel, in the back?”

“Yes,” Brother Francis replied, perking up.“Speak of the devil,” he added in a quieter voice.

A moment later, a familiar person swaggered in, and Warlock jumped to his feet.“Nanny Ash!” he exclaimed.

Ashtoreth’s auburn hair was a bit shorter than it had been last he’d seen her, tied back in a loose bun, and she wore a black blouse and slacks rather than a long woolen skirt and smart jacket, but there was no mistaking those sunglasses or that sharp, clever smile.Ashtoreth laughed and caught him as he lunged in to hug her, squeezing him tight.“It’s been a little while,” she said, her soft burr familiar and surprisingly friendly.

“I missed you,” Warlock whispered into her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ashtoreth agreed softly.She gave him one last squeeze and then let go, looking him over.“You’ve grown up, haven’t you!No longer a wee thing the height of my knee.”

Warlock smiled a little sheepishly.“You look almost exactly the same as I’d remembered,” he admitted, and resisted the urge to look over at the much-changed Brother Francis.

One of Ashtoreth’s eyebrows arched.“To be fair,” she said.“That’s by choice.I thought it might be… easier for you.”

Warlock blinked.“Easier?”

Ashtoreth’s lips twisted.“We have some explaining to do,” she said finally. "I think you're owed it, after everything."

“Quite,” Brother Francis murmured from where he was sitting at the table.Ashtoreth moved around Warlock to join him, and after a long moment to steady himself, Warlock retook his seat as well.

Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis exchanged serious looks.And then they began to explain.

Warlock listened with disbelief as they explained an antichrist, a baby swap, a plan to prevent the end of the world that didn’t _quite_ work the way anyone had expected, and if it hadn’t been for the strangeness of his childhood he might not have believed them.

When they were done, Warlock drained his tea in a few gulps before setting the cup down with a clatter.“So you’re an angel,” he said to Brother Francis— that was, Aziraphale.“And you’re a demon.”Ashtoreth— Crowley— nodded slowly.

“I can show you, if you like,” she said, toying with her sunglasses.Warlock jerked his chin in a small nod, and she pulled them off to reveal yellow eyes and slitted pupils. He leaned a little closer, looking carefully, and couldn't see any indication that she was wearing contacts of any sort.

“I don’t have anything quite as showy,” Aziraphale admitted.“I suppose I could manifest my halo, or a few extra eyes or wings, but humans tend to find that a bit… disconcerting.”

“I believe you,” Warlock said quickly.Knowing his childhood caretakers were immortal, preternatural beings was enough, he didn’t need to see his old gardener with hundreds of angelic eyes.He looked down at his hands, picked at a hangnail.“I just, um…”

Crowley set her sunglasses down on the table and tentatively reached out a hand.Warlock took it and stared down at her black lacquered nails and the gold band on her ring finger, unable to make eye contact.

“Warlock,” Aziraphale said quietly, clasping his hands together.“You’ve probably determined by now that Crowley and I are rather _anomalous_.We love each other, in a way that demons and angels normally don’t, and we care for humans far more than most celestial beings can fathom.You aren’t the Antichrist, no, but those years we spent caring for you were _not_ a waste.”

Warlock swallowed hard, squeezed Crowley’s fingers.“This is… a lot to take in,” he admitted, his stomach churning anxiously.“I, um.I might need a little time?”

When he looked up, Aziraphale was nodding, smiling a little sadly.“Of course,” he said.

“We, er, we know we kind of messed up your childhood, with all our… stuff,” Crowley said, absently reaching back and pulling the band from her hair with her free hand.Her bun came loose, and she raked her fingers before her wavy hair before she continued, “And we understand if you’d rather we just fuck off permanently, stay away from you.But if you want… Aziraphale and I both want to, I don’t know, make it up to you?For all the weirdness, and also for leaving.We’ll be here for you, if you want it.”She looked a little uncomfortable, but when Warlock finally looked over there was nothing but awkward sincerity in her golden eyes.

Warlock smiled slowly.“I’d like that,” he said.“A lot.”Crowley smiled back.Somewhere in the shop a clock began to chime, and Warlock realized for the first time how late it was getting.“I should probably get home, though, I do have class tomorrow.”

“Oh, oh, of course,” Aziraphale said, immeditaley flustered.“My goodness, it’s much later than I’d realized.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” Crowley said with a crooked smile, grabbing her sunglasses off the table and sliding them on as she stood.“Anywhere you’d like.”

“Back home is fine,” Warlock said, and then looked between her and Aziraphale.“But I promise I’ll come back.”

Crowley patted his shoulder, and Aziraphale smiled kindly.“We’d like nothing more, dear boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> listen...... i could <strike>and have</strike> read dozens of fics about Warlock reuniting with Crowley and Aziraphale, and this is just one of many reactions that Warlock could have. Have I gotten my fixation with this entirely out of my system? Probably not.
> 
> [Crowley's rat army](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/post/187196251728/ok-so-ive-seen-people-post-pictures-of-the) is the funniest thing in the world to me and one day I'm going to write an entire fic about it, but for now I'm content to just mention it whenever possible.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm [here](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/) if that's something you're into


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